


When Mountains Crumble to the Sea There Will Still Be You and Me

by EnInkahootz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Whole Lot of Drinking, Adolescent Sexuality, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Barely Legal, Birthday, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Bottom Sam Winchester, Brother/Brother Incest, Brothers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean punches a mirror and gets cut from it, Dreams, Drunk Sex, Ends Post Episode: s01e05 Bloody Mary, First Time, Forbidden Love, Frottage, Getting Together, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Incest, Kissing, M/M, Making Up, Masturbation, Masturbation In A Car, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Pining, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Porn, Public Sex, Rimming, Seduction, Self-Hatred, Sexual Fantasy, Shame, Showering Dean Winchester, Showers, Sibling Incest, Sleeping Together, Smut, Starts when Sam is 16, Taboo, Teen Romance, Teen Sam Winchester, Teenagers, The Impala (Supernatural), Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Top Sam Winchester, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnInkahootz/pseuds/EnInkahootz
Summary: Young adult Dean and his teenage brother Sam get drunk and hook up.  Afterwards Sam wants them to be a couple.  Dean is in love with Sam but feels that what they did was wrong because they are brothers.  Though he tells Sam it will never happen again, they end up having two more drunken sexual encounters over the course of the next year.  Sam still wants to have a romantic relationship, but Dean continues to think that their incest is wrong.  Sam decides it's too hard being around Dean and not being a couple; he tells Dean that if they can't be together he will leave for Stanford.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. I See Trouble on the Way

**Author's Note:**

> All titles are song lyrics.
> 
> Fic title is from "Thank You" by Led Zeppelin  
> Chapter One title is from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival  
> Chapter Two title is from “A Mistake” by Fiona Apple  
> Chapter Three title is from “I Can’t Quit You Baby” by Led Zeppelin  
> Chapter Four title is from "Off My Mind" by Radio Company  
> Chapter Five title is from "Find You" by Oingo Boingo  
> Chapter Six title is from "Streetlights" by Ludo

Dean downed another drink and made another joke, knowing as he heard it come from his mouth that it was dumb and made no sense. It was February of the year 2000; Dean had turned twenty-one on the twenty-fourth of January, but Sam’s birthday wasn’t until the second of May, and he was still sixteen. As Dean watched his little brother laugh hysterically at the joke, he decided this was probably the drunkest they had ever been together.

“Another one?” Sam asked when he finished laughing, then refilled each of their motel bathroom disposable plastic cups without waiting for Dean’s reply. Dean wondered if he ought to cut them off, but he was having too much fun. He loved spending time alone with Sam, even more so now that Sam was getting older. When Sam had turned sixteen Dean had started letting Sam drink with him when John was away. It was four years older than Dean had been the first time he himself had gotten drunk, and Dean had decided that was enough; hunters needed something to calm their nerves, even young hunters. When Sam and Dean got drunk together, laughed together, Dean could almost forget about all that ailed him, all that made his mind and heart ache. It wasn’t just the alcohol that soothed him, it was Sam. Sam had always been a balm to Dean, even when he was being an annoying little brat and pissing Dean off. Even then, Dean loved his little brother fiercely.

They gulped down their drinks and two more after that. Sam had been sitting across from Dean on the other motel room bed, but when he returned from a trip to the bathroom he plopped himself down right next to Dean. He gazed at Dean with a dopey grin.

“Did you hurl?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head.

“No, I’m good,” he slurred.

“Well, drink some more water,” Dean instructed, “I don’t want you getting a hangover.”

“Okay,” Sam answered, “I will soon.”

And then he leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean froze, taken painfully aback by the rush of desire he felt at the contact.

“Feel dizzy, Sammy?” Dean asked with concern.

“No,” Sam replied dreamily, “just wanted to put my head down.”

“Why don’t you lie down in your own bed then. We should probably call it a night anyways.”

“No,” Sam whined, “I wanna stay right here.” He nuzzled his face against Dean’s neck and made a pleased hum.

Dean pulled back, but later than he knew he should have; he had let a few moments pass first, a few brief seconds during which he allowed himself to savor the feelings he knew were wrong. 

“Okay, Sammy,” he said with a forced chuckle, “bedtime for you.” He got up and dragged Sam to his own bed, but when Sam landed on the mattress he pulled Dean down on top of him and giggled.

Again, Dean didn’t move away as fast as he knew he should have. Feeling paralyzed for what seemed like ages, he looked down at Sam’s face, at his sparkling eyes and parted lips, and Dean could swear that Sam’s expression was one of desire. Dean tried to look away, but Sam’s eyes locked onto his and bound their gazes as though by magic. Dean struggled not to notice the sensations of Sam beneath him - his scent, the precise shape of his body… with great effort Dean managed to get up after all, and he took a few steps away from the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, as though his recent actions weren’t weird at all. Maybe they weren’t, Dean considered. Maybe Sam was just being drunk, and Dean was reading into it because of his own feelings; he had been in love with Sam for more years than he was willing to admit to himself. Dean knew that his longing for his little brother made him a pervert, and he despised himself for it, hated himself at every single moment, but Dean didn’t know how to make his wrong feelings go away. He had slept with both women and men before, had been with plenty of people and all of them hot, yet every single time Dean had thought uncontrollably of his little brother. His need for Sam was a disgusting obsession that threatened constantly to consume him.

“Nothing,” Dean mumbled.

“Come back, then,” Sam encouraged, sitting partway up and patting the spot beside him.

“You should drink some water and then sleep,” Dean declared in the authoritative tone he used when he told Sam what was best for him.

“I will later,” Sam replied, his voice sounding sultry - or was Dean imagining that?

Unable to stop himself, Dean stepped forward and sat down beside Sam’s body. Sam reclined back against his pillow and gazed up at Dean with those alluringly parted lips and eyes that seemed to scream an invitation. But that couldn’t be true. Dean must be imagining things because he was so drunk.

“Go to sleep, Sammy,” he murmured.

“Later,” Sam said again, “let’s stay up longer. I have so much fun with you, Dean.”

Dean smiled despite his discomfort.

“You wanna watch a movie then?” Dean suggested.

Sam shook his head. 

“Have another idea?” Dean asked, afraid of the answer.

Sam was silent for a long moment, his face seeming to radiate lust. Dean stared into his eyes and tried to find another way to interpret Sam’s expression, but he couldn’t. Eventually Sam sat up and brought his face very near to Dean’s. Dean froze again.

“You aren’t going to kiss me, are you?” Sam asked, and before Dean had a chance to be appalled at the suggestion Sam had united their mouths, and it was happening, Dean was falling, it was too perfect, it was too good, it was so good Dean felt like he would die -

“What the hell?” Dean asked weakly as he forced himself to break the kiss.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Sam replied, lowering his head and pressing his lips to Dean’s throat, “let’s just do it, let’s just do it, Dean.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned, “we, we’re too drunk.”

“That’s good. We have an excuse,” Sam told him. He ran his lips up and down the side of Dean’s neck.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered harshly, “fuck, it, it feels…” he swallowed the word “good,” knowing he shouldn’t be encouraging Sam’s behavior.

“Good?” Sam whispered into his ear, guessing the end of Dean’s sentiment.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered. He slid a hand into Sam’s hair and felt a rush of longing at its softness. “We, I can’t do this to you,” Dean said, trying and failing to sound stern.

“You aren’t doing anything to me,” Sam replied, “can’t you tell I’m the one seducing you?”

“Sammy,” Dean repeated, wanting to cry from the effort it took not to reunite their mouths.

“Dean,” Sam said decisively, “I want you to kiss me.”

Dean couldn’t bear the pain of his resistance any longer, and his mind had latched with relief onto Sam’s suggestion that their drunkenness made for the perfect excuse. He landed his lips on Sam’s and slid his tongue into Sam’s open mouth. Sam kissed him back fiercely, making a muffled moan and straddling Dean’s lap. Dean felt Sam’s erection press to him and his own cock hardened at speed.

“Oh, Dean,” Sam broke the kiss and moaned, “I knew you wanted me too, oh, Dean,” and he kissed Dean again, madly. Sam shifted his body until his hard cock lined up with Dean’s and Dean made a yell of lust against Sam’s mouth.

“Sammy,” Dean panted, pulling back to read Sam’s face again, to be certain Sam truly wanted this, to know that he wasn’t somehow pressuring Sam into it.

Sam moaned and began to grind his cock against Dean’s cock through their pants. Dean moaned with him, feeling like he was in a dream. Sam grunted and gripped tightly onto Dean’s body, then quickened his thrusts, driving his hardness roughly against Dean’s over and over. The sensation of Sam’s clothed firmness was both deeply satisfying and maddeningly frustrating - Dean wanted his skin, Dean needed his skin.

As though Sam had heard Dean’s thoughts, he reached between their bodies and unzipped Dean’s fly, and then his own. He reached into Dean’s boxers - Dean shuddered when Sam’s hand made contact. Was this really happening?

“Are you okay, Sammy?” Dean asked, somehow still feeling like he was forcing himself on his little brother.

“Very okay,” Sam answered as he freed Dean’s cock from the fabric and then did the same to his own. Dean relished the glimpse of Sam’s cock he caught before Sam pressed their erections together and began to jerk them as one.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean called out, then took Sam’s head in his hands and kissed him with fervor, falling deeper and deeper into sin, kissing him harder and harder with every passing moment. Sam kissed him back with matched force, his tongue exploring Dean’s mouth as though Sam was aiming to memorize it. As they kissed Sam’s hand pumped their pressed together cocks madly, but suddenly Sam pulled his head away and gasped and stopped moving his hand. He shuddered, looking pained, and Dean could tell that Sam had repressed his orgasm, had stepped back from the very edge.

“This can’t be over yet,” Sam panted, and he began to stroke them slowly, tenderly. Dean gazed into Sam’s eyes, allowing himself to get lost in them. He had looked into those same eyes countless times before, but never before had he looked into them like this, like a lover. Now that he had, Dean wondered if he would ever be able to look into them any other way. He desperately hoped that he would manage to, because he knew he could never let something like this happen again. 

“Does it feel good, Dean?” Sam asked him softly.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean answered, guilt flooding him, “so good.”

Sam made a lyrical moan and kissed Dean again, tenderly this time, dreamily. Dean held him close and melted into the kiss. Sam’s hand around his cock and Sam’s cock pressed to Dean’s felt so wrong and yet, in some twisted way, it felt perfectly right. The sensation of rightness terrified Dean; if hooking up with his baby brother felt right, something must be seriously wrong with him. He groaned with pleasure even as he cursed himself, and he began to rock his hips, rubbing back against Sam’s hardness. He ground his cock against Sam’s cock and kissed Sam’s lips with need, even as he felt encompassed by the knowledge that he was disgusting for doing so, that doing this proved beyond a doubt that he was a pervert.

Dean felt his orgasm approach and he broke the kiss to lock their gazes once again.

“Look at me while you come,” Dean heard himself say, “Sammy, I wanna see your face when you come.”

“Oh fuck, oh Dean,” Sam cried, then stared into Dean’s eyes with profound intensity as his cock pulsed against Dean’s and then spilled, and Dean could feel Sam’s seed dripping down his hardness. The sensation, and the beauty of Sam’s face during his climax, sent Dean over the edge -

“Sammy,” he cried, and released in a bittersweet moment of utter bliss swirled with sharp self-hatred.

Sam made a satisfied hum and kissed Dean’s lips briefly but with great feeling. Dean was so happy, happier than he had ever been, and the joy made him want to weep tears of hopelessness and rage.

~

They must have passed out from the drinks because before Dean knew it he was waking up next to a sleeping Sam. Sam’s arm was around him, and Dean removed it at once. He quietly got out of bed and made his way to the shower as quickly as his hungover body would allow him. He stayed in the shower as long as he could justify, terrified to face Sam. Eventually, though, Dean had to leave the safety of the bathroom. To his dismay, Sam was awake and sitting on the bed with a disposable cup of coffee in his hand. There was a second cup on the nightstand between the two beds.

“Got you a coffee,” Sam said.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled, then panicked silently when he realized he had to get dressed. The brothers had always changed in front of each other like it was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing anymore. Dean grabbed his clothes and returned to the safety of the bathroom where he dressed and tried to calm down.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sam said when Dean came out. Sam sounded hurt, and his eyes appeared troubled.

“Do what?” Dean asked in an overly casual tone, as though him dressing in the bathroom was the norm.

“Change in the bathroom,” Sam replied, “why did you do that?”

Dean didn’t say anything.

“I want to talk about last night,” Sam declared.

Dean turned his back to Sam and remained silent.

“Dean, we have to talk about it. I… I have to know how you feel.”

“You said last night we wouldn’t have to talk about it,” Dean replied accusatorily. While certain parts of the night were hazy from the alcohol, Dean very clearly recalled that particular statement.

“I was drunk and wrong and,” Sam spoke hurriedly, “I thought I could just be with you like that and have it be enough, but,” Sam rushed near to Dean and took up his hands, “it isn’t enough. I, Dean, I want us to be together, a couple. I, I love you.”

Dean snatched his hands away though it shattered his heart to do it. He saw Sam wince and he felt himself wince as well.

“Are you still drunk?” he asked Sam, not sure what else to say.

Sam shook his head.

“Dean, please, just, just tell me how you feel,” Sam spoke urgently, “do you want to be together too?”

“Sammy, what the hell?” Dean forced himself to say, “we’re _brothers_. We can’t be a couple. What we did was wrong. I took advantage of you,” and then he felt compelled to add, “I know maybe you can’t forgive me for using you that way, but I want you to know how sorry I am for what I did to you.”

_“What?”_ Sam hissed, sounding deeply annoyed by Dean’s apology, “ _I_ seduced _you_ , Dean, and I did it because I’ve wanted you so bad since, well basically forever. And I thought… I thought you wanted me too. Don’t you?” he sounded as though he might cry, and Dean felt a fresh wave of guilt, “Don’t you want us to be together? No one has to know. It will be our secret, Dean, you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Dean snapped, then sighed, “look, it doesn’t matter if I want it or if I don’t. It’s wrong, Sam. _Wrong._ How can you not see that? We’re brothers and it’s wrong. It’s, it’s perverted. What we did was a mistake, a drunken mistake, and it can never happen again.”

Sam looked like Dean had punched him and Dean’s guilt gripped him fiercely. Sam opened his mouth as though he was going to reply, then closed it again and stormed out of the motel room. They spent the next two days avoiding each other as best they could, but then John came back from the hunt he had gone on by himself and Dean decided that the avoidance might seem suspicious. He tried to act normal around Sam, but in his heart he knew nothing could ever be the same again. There was no way to undo his sin. There was no chance for redemption, and Dean despised himself even more than he had before the hookup, which was something he had not realized was possible.


	2. I’ve Acquired Quite A Taste for a Well-Made Mistake

Dean managed to avoid drinking with Sam for the next three months, terrified he would lose control of himself again, but then came Sam’s seventeenth birthday. John took them out to a quick dinner but afterwards he left, canceling the remainder of their celebratory plans and saying he would be back in four days. Sam didn’t pick a fight over it, and Dean knew that Sam’s placid agreement meant he was significantly saddened by the fact that John had spared so little of his time on Sam’s special day. Dean looked at Sam’s crushed face as John drove away from the restaurant and it made him ache; he couldn’t bear to see Sam in pain.

“I knew we weren’t going bowling when he had us bring separate cars,” Sam spoke hollowly into the night air, and Dean’s heart wept for him.

“We can go bowling without him,” Dean suggested, but Sam only shook his head sadly.

As Dean drove them away in the Impala, he thought about the fact that the family had not exchanged birthday gifts since before Mary died, which meant Sam had never gotten any. All Sam had asked for this year was for the three of them to get dinner and go bowling and he had been denied most of that, even after John had promised it to him. Dean figured John must have had a good reason, that the hunt he had to leave for was vital and time sensitive - still, a guilty part of Dean felt angry at John for hurting Sam. Dean glanced at Sam’s face in the dim light and saw that the pain there was unhidden. Dean winced. Maybe, Dean considered, he could still think of something special to do for his little brother before his birthday was over.

“Let’s celebrate,” Dean suggested back at the motel of the moment. He poured them each a drink and waited for Sam’s reaction.

“You, you want to drink with me?” Sam asked with surprise.

“I mean, it’s your birthday, Sammy, and I want to, you know, celebrate you.” He pushed Sam’s cup toward him on the small table that sat between two stiff motel chairs. He sat down in one of the chairs and grinned at Sam. They could drink without hooking up, Dean told himself. Nothing had to happen. He just wanted to make Sam feel celebrated, appreciated, loved.

Sam sat down on the other chair and picked up his cup, his expression curious, his eyes searching Dean’s face.

“To Sammy,” Dean announced, then touched his plastic motel bathroom cup to Sam’s and said, “clink!” Sam’s face broke into a grin and their descent into complete intoxication began. They drank and laughed and Dean let himself be happy; he was so grateful that Sam had been born. He could not imagine going through life without his little brother. The day Sam had come into existence, the day Sam had entered Dean’s life, was surely a day to celebrate.

“Sammy,” Dean slurred countless drinks later when he thought he had a good idea, “I wanna give you a birthday present.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked, “But we never do birthday gifts.”

“Well, it’s a special kind of gift,” Dean replied, and before he could think about it too much he dropped to his knees in front of Sam’s seated body and guided Sam’s legs apart.

“Dean,” Sam gasped.

“You want your birthday present, Sammy?” Dean asked in a low voice as he slowly unzipped Sam’s fly. Part of Dean was screaming at himself to stop, and yet he felt as though he couldn’t, couldn’t stop for anything. He needed to show Sam how much he meant to him, how much he wanted to celebrate him. He needed to show him with his mouth.

“Yes, yes, Dean, suck me.”

Eagerly, Dean removed Sam’s cock from his pants. It had already begun to harden, and Dean fondled it until it grew the rest of the way erect. Then he held it in his hand and admired its every detail.

“I like it, Sammy,” he whispered, then lowered his mouth onto it.

“Fuck, yes, Dean, oh god,” Sam called out, and Dean felt warm, felt radiant. Sam’s cock in Dean’s mouth felt right in a perverted way, felt like it inexplicably belonged there, felt like love even amidst the dark, cold shadow created by the cloud of guilt that hung constantly over Dean’s head. He glided his mouth on and off of Sam’s cock slower than he yearned to, not wanting it to be over too quickly. He felt Sam’s hands slide into his hair and he made a contented moan around Sam’s cock. Sam shuddered at the vibrations and uttered a low sound.

Bringing Sam pleasure made Dean keenly happy. He raised his head to smile at Sam, and Sam smiled blissfully back. Sam’s smile made Dean feel hot and needy, and he returned his attention to Sam’s cock. He ran his tongue around the head of Sam’s cock over and again. He licked slow lines up the shaft until he had covered every spec of firm flesh. He swept the underside of his tongue to and fro over the tip of Sam’s cock and he teased the tiny slit at its center with the tip of his tongue.

A sudden wave of guilt engulfed Dean and he almost stopped - he was sucking his little brother’s cock and that was wrong - but then Sam began to chant his name and Dean moaned and hurried to bob his head, taking Sam into his mouth over and over. Dean felt Sam’s hands grip his shoulders and felt Sam’s cock pulse rapidly in his mouth; Dean nearly sobbed because he knew it was about to be over and that it could never happen again. In a move of desperation, he pulled his head off before Sam could come. Sam swore and his body shook as he clutched Dean’s shoulders, digging in his fingers, clinging to him with wide, focused eyes, and Dean watched Sam shove down his orgasm.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean murmured, “I just, I’m not ready for it to end.”

Sam nodded his head in understanding and caressed Dean’s cheek. Dean felt himself flush at the tenderness and what it made him want.

“Kiss me,” Sam spoke with a wild need, “Dean, Dean, kiss me.”

Dean stood them both up and united their hungry mouths. It was the kiss Dean had been longing for since they had hooked up the first time; it was a kiss of reunion and it glowed with satiation. Dean wished it could always be this way. He slid his hand up the back of Sam’s shirt to feel his skin. Sam made a soft sound against Dean’s mouth and pressed to him. Dean held him tightly, in his drunken mind thinking that perhaps if he held Sam tightly enough he would never have to let him go.

In time Dean guided Sam back onto the chair and fell back onto his knees. He wrapped his hand around the base of Sam’s erection and met his eyes.

“Sammy, I wanna make you come so bad,” he groaned, “let me make you come, I want you to come for me, come in my mouth, okay Sammy?”

Sam nodded almost frantically. Dean smiled fondly at him, then lowered his head, taking Sam’s hardness down the back of his throat. He moved his head at speed, gliding his mouth rapidly on and off of Sam’s cock over and again, taking him down his throat with each forward motion. Dean wished they were naked, that Sam’s cock wasn’t the only part of him that was exposed. He wished that they could be fully nude together, hold each other’s bare bodies, feel each other skin-against-skin. He wished he could lay Sam down and kiss every inch of his body, then promise him - _forever, Sammy, you and me in love, you and me together, forever, forever..._

“Dean, I’m coming,” Sam cried, then gripped tightly onto Dean’s head, gave a single, brutal jerk of his hips and shot his seed down Dean’s throat. Dean relished the taste, tried to memorize it because he knew he would never taste it again. 

For now, though, they were still drunk and it was still Sam’s birthday, and since those were two great excuses Dean allowed himself to push things further.

“Happy birthday, Sammy,” he spoke, then stood up and took Sam’s hand in his, “do you want to lie down for a little? Together?”

Sam looked like he might cry. He brought Dean’s hand to his lips and kissed his palm.

“Yes,” Sam whispered, and Dean led them to one of the motel room beds. They didn’t strip but they climbed beneath the covers. Sam rested his head on Dean’s chest and Dean stroked his hair and tried not to think of how much he would hate himself in the morning.

“Dean, I want to suck you too,” Sam said after a few minutes. He slid his hand down toward Dean’s cock, but Dean caught his wrist.

“No, Sammy,” Dean told him sternly, “this is your birthday present.”

“But I want to.”

“Look,” Dean said after a pause, “a big part of why I can justify this right now is that you’re the one getting off, only you. If you, if I let you suck me I’ll feel like I took advantage of you.”

Sam appeared wounded and Dean felt awful.

“But hey, how about we take our clothes off and sleep here together? Just sleep, I mean. But we can, you know, hold each other.”

Sam’s face changed, his eyes lighting up. He climbed out of bed and hurriedly stripped, then stood for a long moment while Dean drank in the sight of him. Dean’s cock throbbed but he ignored it. He followed Sam’s example and when he was nude Sam eyed him with a dropped jaw. Sam’s face was so full of longing that Dean’s cock hardened against his will. Sam’s eyes fell to it.

“Are you sure I can’t suck you?” he asked Dean.

“I’m sure,” Dean replied firmly, though it took immeasurable effort to resist Sam’s offer yet again, “it’ll go down on its own,” he said of his erection. Sam nodded sadly and they got back into bed.

When Dean took Sam’s bare body into his arms a sweet sigh escaped Dean’s lips. He felt a moment of pure rightness, a moment in which he forgot his guilt and felt only his love. He caressed Sam’s skin wherever he could reach. He kissed Sam’s hair and he kissed Sam’s cheek. He kissed Sam’s lips gently, then gazed into his eyes, so sweet and unguarded. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered, and he cuddled closer, “I love you.”

“I love you, Sammy,” Dean spoke with intensity as he hugged Sam’s body tightly to his own, “happy birthday,” Dean added, and the brothers fell asleep in each other’s arms.

~

In the morning the beautiful excuses of drunkenness and Sam’s birthday were gone, and Dean hated himself anew. Sam was still in his arms, asleep, and part of Dean wanted to stay, wanted to hold him forever. But in the light of day he knew again that being with Sam was wrong, and so he quietly extricated himself from Sam’s limbs and made his way to the safety of the shower. 

Beneath the water Dean recalled what he had done, remembering the drunken encounter more clearly than he had hoped he would, reliving with shame and arousal the feeling of Sam’s hardness in his mouth. Dean had gone to sleep with his own cock unsatisfied, and now it hardened demandingly. He wrapped his soapy hand around it and began to jerk himself. 

At once Dean’s mind accosted him with an image of Sam’s naked body. Dean had seen it and felt it against his own, but he hadn’t gotten to explore it, to memorize it. He imagined if he had, if instead of dropping to his knees and taking Sam’s cock out of his pants he had slowly stripped him, lay his nude body on the bed and kissed him everywhere. Dean’s hand pumped his cock faster as he pictured himself running his mouth all over Sam’s chest, lingering at each of his pink nipples before kissing down his stomach, down, down, all the way down to his cock. Then Dean would take it into his mouth, take it down his throat, nice and slow. He would stroke Sam’s balls and the insides of his thighs as his mouth pleasured him.

As Dean’s orgasm neared the fantasy progressed almost against his will: sucking Sam wasn’t enough for the Dean in his fantasy, and so he straddled Sam’s body and lowered his hole onto Sam’s hardness -

Dean spilled over his hand then, suddenly and violently, his mind going blissfully blank for an instant and his seed dripping down to swirl into the soapy water that had pooled on the shower floor. Immediately after he came down from his climax Dean yearned to be punished for his sin. Then he realized it would be punishment enough to have to live a lifetime so near to Sam yet unable to be with him. It would be punishment enough to have to reject Sam again, to witness his pain and know that Dean himself was the cause of it. How could Dean have allowed this to happen again? He had even initiated it this time; how could he have done that? He had only wanted to give Sam a good birthday, and amidst his intoxication he had failed to see he would be hurting Sam in the long run. He understood it now, though; he had led Sam on. He was cruel. Perverted and cruel.

Dean wanted to stay in the shower forever so he would never have to hurt Sam again. He washed his body over three more times, slowly, then washed his hair again. He wanted to cry and he wanted to punch the wall. He did neither.

“Dean?” he heard Sam’s concerned voice call from outside the bathroom door, “you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, “just finishing up in the shower.”

“Okay,” Sam said, still sounding worried.

Dean knew he had to come out, so he rinsed off for the final time and left the shower. He dried himself as slowly as he could and wrapped a fresh towel around his waist. He stared at his face in the small, dirty motel bathroom mirror and he wanted to throw up. But he didn’t. He averted his eyes and felt an icy numbness spread throughout his being. Finally, he left the bathroom.

“You okay?” Sam asked again when Dean emerged, and Dean looked away.

“Oh,” Sam said, the small word heavy with sorrow and rage, “don’t even bother saying it,” he spat.

“I’m sorry,” Dean spoke distantly, knowing that if he came too close to his guilt and shame just now he would be too stricken to speak, “I lost control of myself last night. I never should have done that. I thought I was doing something nice for your birthday, because I was so drunk and I’m so fucked up, but that’s no excuse. No excuse for doing that to you.”

Sam stared at him, fury in his eyes.

“You said you loved me,” he said in the coldest tone Dean had ever heard him use.

“I, I meant as a brother,” Dean hurried to lie.

Sam made a harsh laughing sound.

“No, Dean, you did _not_ mean as a brother,” he snapped, “you’re just scared, Dean,” he yelled, “you are a fucking coward.”

Dean stared at him with hard eyes. 

“I’m just trying to protect you, Sam. From me. I’m so fucked up, and I’m just, I’m making you confused, making you think you want me. This is all my fault, and I’m so sorry and I am putting an end to it, for real this time.”

“I am _not_ confused,” Sam hissed, “I know what love is and I know I love you and I know you love me too. You’re a liar, Dean, a liar and a coward.”

“Can’t you see it’s wrong for us to be together?” Dean replied with desperation, “Sammy, we’re _brothers_.”

“It’s not wrong,” Sam yelled, tears spilling onto his rageful face, “its love, Dean. Love is not wrong.”

Dean longed to agree. Something in him believed that Sam was right; there was deep beauty in the love they shared. True, the rest of the world wouldn’t understand their love, would think it wrong, but all that truly mattered was that they were together, even if it had to be in secret… 

Dean suddenly realized what vile thoughts his mind had slipped into and he turned his back to Sam, afraid the part of him that wanted to give in would take Sam into his arms, even sober. Sam didn’t speak further, but Dean could hear him crying softly for a long moment before stomping out and slamming the motel room door hard behind himself.


	3. I Said I Can't Quit You Baby

Over eight months passed, the silence between the brothers a void of sorrow they could never escape. On the same hunts, in the same motel rooms, Sam was everywhere around him and yet Dean could not let himself look too closely, be too near. His longing for his little brother was stronger than it had ever been before. When he accidentally caught glimpses of Sam’s face, his body, when he inadvertently inhaled Sam’s scent, Dean wanted to rush to Sam and take him into his arms and kiss his mouth and never stop. But Dean also wanted to run; being so close and not having him was just as painful a punishment as Dean had imagined it would be. He knew he deserved it. He had violated his little brother, not once but twice, and he deserved to suffer forever.

Then came Dean’s twenty-second birthday, and John didn’t end up showing up at all. Dean wasn’t especially surprised, but it wounded him somewhere deep inside himself. He sat alone in the motel room and drank and drank. Then the door opened to reveal Sam, and Dean had no choice but to look at him.

“I thought I told you to go to the library,” Dean said, voice and face as guarded as he could make them.

“I did,” Sam answered, “I was there for three hours, but now they’ve closed for the night.”

Dean looked at his watch and realized it was later than he thought. He considered that he must have consumed a lot of alcohol by now, and just then he realized that everything was hazy, that the room was spinning just a little. How long had it been doing that for? He poured himself another. He stared into his cup and woefully watched the surface of the liquid it held.

“Pour me one?” he heard Sam ask, and he raised his head to find that Sam was sitting on the chair across from him, expectantly holding out an empty plastic cup he had apparently retrieved from the bathroom while Dean was busy staring stupidly into his drink.

“Well, that sounds like a terrible idea,” Dean mumbled.

“But it’s your birthday,” Sam replied, “you shouldn’t be celebrating all alone.”

“It’s better this way,” Dean said after a pause.

“I don’t like seeing you so sad on your birthday,” Sam told him. He poured himself a drink. 

“To my big brother on his birthday,” Sam declared with a raised plastic motel bathroom cup. Dean felt himself smile and he raised his own cup to touch it to Sam’s. “Clink,” Sam said, then downed his drink in one long gulp and refilled his cup. “Better catch up to you,” Sam explained, then swallowed down the drink he had poured before refilling his cup once again. Dean watched as Sam downed drink after drink, unable to stop himself from gazing hypnotically at Sam’s bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallowed. In time Sam made a face of consideration, then grinned and announced that he had more or less caught up to Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean slurred, “Sammy,” he said again, and he suddenly wanted to cry. But he didn’t. “I thought you were mad about, about last time we got drunk together.”

“Well, I was,” Sam answered, “but then I realized what a precious gift you gave me.” Dean gawked at him. “My birthday gift,” Sam continued, “I mean, I realized that, even if nothing else ever happens between us in our whole lives, I will always have that memory. I will always know what it feels like to be in your mouth, to have you pleasure me.”

“Sammy,” Dean murmured.

“Do you know how many times I’ve replayed it in my head?” Sam asked in a smooth tone. Dean shook his head with a dropped jaw. “Too many times to count. And you know what else?”

“What?” Dean whispered.

“I jerk off to it. It’s the _only_ thing I jerk off to.”

“Oh my god, Sammy.”

“I want to give you a birthday gift too.”

“No, Sammy,” Dean slurred, wincing as he spoke, “I told you, I can’t let you suck me, no matter how bad I want it.”

“Dean,” Sam whispered. He reached across the table and placed his hand atop Dean’s. Dean stared at their layered hands for a blurry moment. “Dean,” Sam said again, and Dean met Sam’s eyes, feeling like he had already lost control of himself, “I want you to fuck me.”

Dean wanted it, yes, he wanted it. He had imagined it over the years, when he couldn’t resist. He had imagined it and he had pleasured himself, and after his orgasm he had thought for hours about what a profoundly disgusting pervert he was.

“I can’t, Sammy,” he forced himself to say.

“You won’t be taking advantage of me,” Sam assured him, “I want it. I want us to fuck Dean, to, to make love.” He got up from his chair and sat on Dean’s lap, then took Dean’s face into his hands and kissed him, their tongues coming urgently together. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and clutched him fiercely; as much as Dean had suffered since their last sexual encounter, he saw now that he had barely realized the extent of his starvation for Sam’s touch until this ecstatic moment of fulfillment.

“Sammy,” he moaned softly after their kiss, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, cherishing every instant of sensation. He thought with wild yearning on Sam’s offer, but Dean knew he couldn’t let himself fuck Sam, couldn’t permit himself to penetrate his little brother’s hole and use it for his pleasure - not even if Sam thought he wanted it. “How about you fuck me?” Dean suggested, “Are you into topping?”

“Mmm,” Sam replied richly, “yes, I’m into sex both ways. Do you actually like bottoming or do you just feel too guilty to fuck me?”

“I’m into sex both ways too,” Dean rushed to reveal, and it was true, “please, Sammy,” he begged without meaning to, “that’s what I want for my birthday: your cock inside me.”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam moaned softly, then kissed Dean’s lips with tenderness. As their kiss deepened Sam straddled Dean’s lap and Dean thought with conflicted emotions of their first time, when Sam had jerked their cocks as one. He felt Sam harden against him and he hardened too, and they both rocked their hips, moaning against each other’s mouths and sliding their hands beneath each other’s shirts.

“I want to be naked with you,” Dean broke the kiss to plead, and Sam nodded eagerly. They hurried to remove each other’s clothes and in no time they were bared to one another. “Lie on the bed, Sammy,” Dean directed, and Sam climbed onto one of the beds and looked at Dean expectantly. Dean took a long moment to admire Sam’s body from a distance, then climbed onto the bed with him and began to kiss his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs… Dean moved his lips over Sam’s body until he had covered every spec of Sam’s soft skin with his kisses. Sam made breathy moans as Dean worked, and when Dean was done he got up to retrieve a condom and the tube of lube he kept in his backpack. 

“Come back,” Sam called at once. Dean chuckled softly and returned a moment later, condom and lube in hand. He rolled the condom onto Sam’s hard cock and used a lubed hand to slick the firm flesh.

“Are you a virgin, Sammy?”

“No, Dean, will you ride me?”

“Yeah, Sammy.”

Dean slicked his own hole with lube and straddled Sam’s body. He reached behind himself and wrapped his fingers around the base of Sam’s slippery cock to hold it still, and then Dean lowered himself slowly onto it.

“Oh, fuck, Dean,” Sam cried, “you feel so good, oh Dean, Dean.”

“Sammy,” Dean replied huskily, then began to raise and lower his body, relishing the sensation of Sam’s hardness filling his channel. Dean’s own hard cock throbbed needily as it bobbed in the air. He tried to go slowly, but he wanted Sam so badly, had longed for him so keenly, that he could not contain his passion. Dean rode Sam at speed, taking his brother’s cock deep inside himself over and again, watching with rapt attention as the pleasure played across Sam’s face. 

“Does it feel good for you too, Dean?” Sam asked, sounding worried that it didn’t.

“So fucking good, Sammy,” Dean moaned, “look how hard I am, fuck, I’ve imagined this, Sammy, you feel so good inside me.”

“Dean,” Sam groaned low, and then he gripped Dean’s hips and held him still. Dean stopped riding him and moaned in anticipation in the too long moment before Sam began to thrust up into him. Their eyes locked as Sam controlled the pace of their sex: just on the boarder of dreamy and wild. After a few minutes of this, Sam grabbed Dean by his arms and pulled him down, kissed him roughly, then rolled them over so that Sam was on top. Dean breathed heavily and let himself be moved.

“Is this okay?” Sam whispered as he gazed down at Dean’s face.

“I love you, Sammy,” Dean said without meaning to.

“Oh, god, Dean, I love you so much,” Sam replied, voice impassioned, and he reunited their lips, kissing Dean madly as he bent Dean’s legs back and began to thrust deeply into him. Dean’s cock was crushed between their bodies, Sam’s every movement creating friction against it. Dean felt whole in a way he never had before. He had been fucked before, by a number of men over the years, and he had been pegged by a handful of women, but Dean had not known until now that bottoming could feel like this: like being made purely and utterly complete.

“Dean,” Sam moaned as he snapped his hips, “I know this might be the only time we get to, to make love,” - Dean winced at Sam’s words, knowing it _would_ be the only time, _had_ to be, knowing he could never let this happen again, it was just for his birthday, just this one birthday, just this one time, just this one chance to unite their bodies and hearts - “but,” Sam continued, “I want you to know I will always remember this. Dean, I know we’re drunk as fuck but, but please, please tell me you’ll remember it too.”

“Forever,” Dean hurried to promise, “forever, Sammy.”

Sam smiled a bittersweet smile, then kissed Dean’s lips tenderly, slowing the motion of his hips as they drove his cock in and out of Dean’s ass. Dean was glad for the change of pace; as urgently as they desired each other, they needed to savor this.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam spoke softly, “always remember that, even when we can’t say it to each other anymore in a romantic way, know it whenever I look into your eyes, know I am saying it in my heart. Remember that, always remember that, please, no matter what happens, always remember tonight, always remember my love.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean whispered, wanting to cry from the strength of his love and from his heavy dread of the great loss that would come in the morning, when his birthday was over and he was sober and he could no longer excuse his wrong actions. For now, though, Dean had the precious excuses, and he clung to them as he clung to Sam, arms around his back as Sam worked his hips. “I love you,” Dean spoke, “Sammy, I love you, and, just like you said. You know, when I look at you. Just like you said. You can know I’m saying it, inside. And, and I’ll remember what you said. I promise to remember.” He slid a hand into Sam’s hair. “I’ll always love you,” Dean added, “even though we can’t… always, Sammy, my Sammy.” 

Tears pooled in Sam’s eyes, a single tear escaping as he looked down at Dean like he was looking at something immeasurably precious. The tear landed on Dean’s cheek, and suddenly Dean realized a tear had escaped his own eye, and their bittersweet waters flowed into each other on Dean’s skin.

The brothers kissed with sweetness and damp cheeks as their sex dragged on. At multiple points it was evident that Sam was about to come, but each time Dean watched him repress his climax, and he was grateful to Sam for not letting it be over. He ran his hands up and down Sam’s back and over the curve of his ass. He rested his hands on Sam’s ass cheeks and felt the muscles working beneath the soft skin. He kissed Sam’s neck over and over, inhaling his scent greedily. Sam moaned and moaned against Dean’s ear, sending waves and waves of thrills crashing through Dean’s body - those moans were for him, those moans were _his_.

“Sammy,” he cried, and he wanted to say more, wanted to say to hell with wrong or right, that all that mattered was being together. But Dean didn’t let himself say it, and when he shoved down the words he could almost hear the shattering of his heart.

“Oh fuck, Dean, I can feel your cock pulsing between us. Can you come like this?” Sam asked excitedly, “from the penetration and the friction between our bodies?”

“Yes, Sammy,” Dean moaned.

“Do you want to?” Sam asked, “Do you want to come for me, Dean? Do you want to come with my cock inside you?”

“Fuck yes,” Dean grunted, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he began to chant, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me hard, Sammy, fuck me hard and I’ll come for you.”

“Dean,” Sam spoke in a low, possessive tone. He sped up the motion of his pelvis, slamming his cock in and out of Dean’s channel at a rapid, desperate pace, “come for me, come for me, Dean, I love you.”

At Sam’s final words Dean let himself go, needing to climax for his brother, needing to gift Sam with his most bare, vulnerable moment. He hugged Sam tightly to him and shook violently and spilled with blinding ecstasy between their pressed together bodies, and called out - 

“I love you, remember, remember, my Sammy.”

Sam sobbed suddenly, then gave a final, frantic snap of his hips and released, kissing Dean’s lips, his tears streaming now, wetting Dean’s face, and Dean cried too, because it was so beautiful, and because it was over.

~

When Dean awoke naked in bed with Sam, limbs entangled, he did not rush away like the other times. Instead he stared at his sleeping brother and lamented all he was giving up, all he was saying no to. The way it was last night, it could be that way forever if only Dean would say yes… could he? He yearned to find a way to justify having a romance with his own brother, but he couldn’t, and so he gazed at Sam’s nudity for what he knew to be the last time, holding Sam in silence until he woke.

Dean watched Sam’s eyes flutter open. They focused on Dean’s eyes and were purely joyful for a breathtaking instant, but then Sam seemed to remember all at once that it was over; his face fell so low that Dean instinctively hugged him tightly, held him as close as he possibly could. Sam started to cry, and Dean stroked his hair, but the brothers did not speak.


	4. How Do I Get You off My Mind

Next passed over three months of furtive glances and little touches wherever they could justify them. Brushing hands on purpose when they passed a weapon between them, locking eyes when John wasn’t looking, running their gazes up and down each other’s bodies when they were alone. Dean would watch Sam sleep sometimes, in their shared motel rooms. Sam used to sleep in pajamas but since their sex he had begun to sleep in the nude. Dean wanted to give Sam the same chance to catch a glimpse of his bare body that Sam had given him. Dean had already slept only in his boxers, and sometimes a T-shirt if it was cold, but he started sleeping naked too, hoping Sam would see him, wanting them as close as they could possibly be without crossing the line.

As Sam’s eighteenth birthday approached, Dean grew increasingly panicked; his desire to allow the birthday to be an excuse for more drunken sex was strong enough to make him feel he would go mad if he had to resist it, and yet he knew that he must resist it. He couldn’t have them fucking twice a year forever. He had said the last time would be the end, and he had to stick to that. He already hated himself enough for the little touches and glances that he couldn’t make himself put an end to. He should be snatching his hands away. He should be averting his gaze. He should be sleeping in clothes. 

When the day came, Sam approached him, bottle and cups in hand and a shaky smile on his face.

“We can’t,” Dean spoke softly, “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sam bit his lip, clearly fighting tears, and looked away. Dean couldn’t stand to have hurt Sam. Hurting his little brother in any way had always been one of the worst feelings in the world to Dean. He reached out and took Sam’s hand in his. Sam turned and met his gaze, eyes questioning.

“Maybe just a birthday kiss,” Dean whispered, “just this once.”

Sam nodded, his expression urgent and bittersweet. Dean pulled Sam close and wrapped his arms around him. He stared into his eyes and said it in his mind - _I love you, I love you, my Sammy, remember, remember_ \- and Sam looked back at him like he was returning the sentiment. Dean united their lips and it felt like everything else in all of existence paused. There was only the beating of their hearts, the pressing of their lips.

It was their first sober kiss, Dean realized, and it was glorious and vivid. Their open mouths locked and their tongues caressed each other. Dean held Sam as tightly as he could, feeling right, feeling like maybe being with Sam wasn’t wrong after all - but then recalling with a crushing weight that it was. It _had_ to be wrong. They were _brothers_. Sam’s hands slipped under the back of Dean’s shirt and glided over his skin; this seemed like something Dean should maybe stop, but he let it happen, and he let them kiss until they were both panting, and he let himself feel joy even as his guilt screamed alongside it.

“Dean,” Sam breathed when the kiss finally came to its end, “please. Please, I need you. What we do, the looks and everything, it isn’t enough, it just isn’t. Not enough at all. I need more. I need you, Dean, please, I, I’m begging you.” He clutched Dean’s hand in his own, held it tightly, fiercely.

Dean winced because he needed Sam too, needed him more than anything, needed him so badly that every moment without him felt like teetering on the edge of death. But they couldn’t have each other. They simply could not. That was just the way it was, and they had to accept it.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean replied, each syllable he spoke like a dagger to his own heart. They were still holding hands, and Dean failed to stop himself from bringing Sam’s hand to his lips and pressing a sorrowful kiss to his palm. Sam made a small sob, then pulled his hand reluctantly away. Dean was profoundly wounded by the loss, even as he knew it necessary.

“I think I’ll go out,” Sam said, voice hollow, and he rushed out the motel room door.

“Happy birthday, Sammy,” Dean called after him.

~

After that Sam didn’t look longingly at Dean anymore, didn’t touch him any more than he had to and went back to sleeping in his pajamas. Every day Dean cried in the shower over the loss, but he knew Sam was doing the right thing. Dean fell in line and stopped trying for glimpses of connection, though it felt like trying to give up on breathing. The brothers still hunted together, still shared motel rooms, but Sam was nothing but cold to Dean, so cold that Dean felt like Sam had trapped him in a block of ice and left him to freeze to death, and so it was for four excruciating months.

“I have to tell you something,” Sam said one night, and Dean was alarmed that Sam was initiating a conversation with him.

“What is it?”

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment. The look was longer and more focused than any look Sam had given Dean since the birthday kiss. Dean treasured their eye contact even though he sensed something terrible was coming.

“I’m leaving,” Sam finally said, “tomorrow night.”

_“What?”_ was all Dean could think to say, unable to process the news.

“Yeah, I got into college. Stanford, full ride,” he said as though he was straining not to sound guilty about it.

Dean felt gutted, dead.

“You, you’re leaving me?”

“Dean,” Sam said, suddenly impassioned, “I can’t stand this, this, being around you but not being with you. Dean, it’s like torture every moment. You don’t want to be with me, and I’ll never be able to move on with us in the same place all the time.”

“Move on?” Dean echoed, feeling very far away.

“Unless,” Sam spoke cautiously, “Dean, I, I’ll stay for you. I mean, I’ll stay if you want us to be together. Dean, we’re in love and it’s right and I know it. I _know_ it. But if you never want to be with me again because we’re brothers, if you never want to be a couple, then, then I just have to learn to accept that, and I can’t learn to accept it here, like this, with us hunting together, sharing motel rooms, meals, everything. I can’t be so close without having you. It, it’s killing me. I can’t live a life this way, with this pain, this constant pain. I just can’t go on this way, Dean, I can’t stand it.”

“You, you,” Dean stammered, then trailed off. His head was spinning and his heart was beating somehow too rapidly and too slowly at the same time.

“So, please, will you be with me?” Sam implored, “Will you give me a reason to stay? Dean, please, please tell me to stay.” His voice broke on the final word.

Dean wanted to say it more than he had ever wanted to say anything. _Stay, stay,_ he wanted to tell him, _stay and be mine forever._ Could he say it? Could he? Dean grasped for an excuse, a way to justify saying yes to an official romance with his brother. But there was nothing; all his mind could do was scream at him that he was a pervert, and all his heart could do was scream in the agony it knew it was obligated to feel. Dean forced down his tears and shook his head, too pained to express his rejection in words.

Sam spoke no reply, and his face grew suddenly guarded. He turned away, and Dean stared at his back. With desperation, Dean wondered what he should say. Should he beg Sam to stay even though they wouldn’t be a couple? Or was that unfair? Should he say goodbye? That he would miss Sam with his every breath? No, Dean couldn’t face saying goodbye to Sam; it pained him just to consider it. There had to be some way to fix this. Dean struggled to find the magic words that would make it all alright, but before he could think of anything Sam had rushed away.

~

Five hours passed. Dean feared Sam had decided to leave a night early, but in the wee hours Sam returned to the small house the family was currently squatting in; none of the motels in the area had vacancies. Though there were multiple rooms in the house, many were full of debris, and so Sam and Dean were sleeping in the same room just as they usually did in motels.

Dean had been lying in his sleeping bag, pretending there was any chance he could fall asleep, but when he heard the room’s door begin to open he sat up. He wanted to see Sam, to drink in the sight of him as much as he could in the brief time they had left. He tried to meet Sam’s eyes, but Sam looked pointedly away. Sam grabbed his pajamas and silently went to the bathroom, and Dean felt freshly punched even though Sam hadn’t changed in front of him since the birthday kiss. He waited for Sam to return and tried to think of what to say.

When Sam returned, dressed in his pajamas, he avoided Dean’s gaze again. He climbed into his sleeping bag and rolled onto his side away from Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean spoke after a long moment.

“What?” Sam spoke icily without turning over.

“Sammy, please look at me.”

Sam made an annoyed sound and rolled over to face him.

“What?” Sam repeated.

“I, I know we can’t be together, like we want to, but,” Dean said, pushing out the words, “but we’re still brothers and, Sammy, can’t you just, just stay and be my brother?”

“No,” Sam replied shortly, “it isn’t enough.”

Dean felt his eyes fill with tears.

“Tell me we can be a couple and I’ll stay in a second,” Sam said, voice suddenly tender, “but otherwise,” he spoke, tone turning guarded once again, “I have to go. I can’t stand it. I just can’t survive it. I think I’ll die if I have to go on this way.”

“Sammy,” Dean replied, a single tear spilling from his eye, “please stay as my brother. Please, please don’t go.”

“Good night, Dean,” Sam said darkly, then rolled away from Dean once again.

~

The next night, the final night, Sam told John that he was leaving for Stanford. Dean stood in the corner of the room and watched them fight, listened to them screaming harsh words at each other in violent tones. Dean hoped that John would somehow talk Sam out of going, but all he did was tell Sam that he was betraying the family and so had no place in it anymore. He told Sam to go, to get out and never come back, and Sam said he was happy to, had already planned to, and Dean swallowed his sobs as he watched Sam grab his already-packed bag and leave.

John glared at the front door after Sam left, then stormed off to the room he was using and slammed the door. Dean ran after Sam, desperate not to lose him. 

“Sammy, please,” he called, voice breaking, but Sam didn’t turn, only kept walking briskly down the street.

“Don’t follow me and don’t call me,” Sam snapped over his shoulder. 

With tears rolling down his cheeks Dean watched Sam disappear into the night.

~

It was three sleepless nights later when Dean found the small black box in the glove compartment of the Impala. There was a small white tag affixed to it that read simply: _Dean_. With held breath Dean opened the box to find a silver ring with an indented band around the center. Dean’s heart beat wildly, blissful and sorrowful and needy and guilty all at once. He removed the ring from the box and examined it, finding that the inside was engraved with one word: _Remember_.

And Dean wept.


	5. When I Drive I Sometimes Speak to No One Softly

When Dean was hunting with John it was a little easier not to think about Sam. But only a little. When John sent Dean off on a hunt without him so that he could pursue something else at the same time, or when he left Dean to wait while he hunted something he forbid Dean to help with, Dean found himself alone and drowning in thoughts of his brother. He fingered the ring Sam had left for him, which he took off only to shower. He remembered their sex, the need and the tenderness. He despised himself for hurting Sam by rejecting him. He wished with all that he was that things could be different.

At night he jerked himself to his memories of their encounters, and to his fantasies of all the things they never did, would never get to do. All the motel rooms felt lonely, so lonely that Dean hated to be in them. He stayed out for as long as he could. He went to bars and picked up men and women and tried to find with them even a spec of what he had felt with Sam, but all Dean felt was numbness and impatience for each fuck to be over. 

He went for long drives in the Impala to try and clear his head. He struggled to focus on the road and on the car, his Baby, and a part of him succeeded, but a larger part of Dean was yearning always for Sam. Dean was doomed to suffer for a lifetime, and he deserved it. Not only was he a pervert who desired his own little brother, molested him, not only had he somehow spread his wrong feelings to Sam, corrupted him, but Dean had also broken his beloved brother’s heart over and again. He drove faster and faster, drove like he could race past his pain.

Sometimes Dean would look at the passenger seat and picture all the times Sam had sat there. He pictured Sam sitting there to hide the ring in the glove compartment. When had he done it? Dean longed to call Sam and thank him for the gift, but Sam’s last words to Dean were, “don’t call me.” Dean played with his ring as he drove and thought of the engraving inside - _Remember_ it told him, and he did, and he would, always, always. What they had done was wrong, but Dean allowed himself to treasure it all the same. He was a sinner to find love where he did, to find sexual satisfaction with his brother, but he couldn’t deny how beautiful it had been when they were together, how right it had felt.

One night, like so many nights before it, Dean pulled the Impala over on the side of some empty road and took out his cock. Dean fondled himself and pictured Sam’s face until he grew erect in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and began to stroke himself slowly. He imagined that it was Sam’s hand stroking him. Sam was sitting in the passenger’s seat and soon he would lower his head and take Dean into his mouth. It would feel hot and wet and perfect and Dean would want to come right away, to spill his seed in his little brother’s mouth, but he would wait, wait, make it last…

Or maybe they would crowd into the back seat, Sam lying on top of Dean’s naked body, and Sam would push his hard cock into Dean’s hole and Dean would cry out his name - _Sammy, Sammy_ \- and Sam would fuck him hard and fast, kiss him desperately, kiss him like he couldn’t survive without him…

A rush of guilt came with Dean’s next imagining: what if Dean were on top? He would move his hips nice and smooth, gliding in and out of Sam’s channel. He would kiss Sam’s neck over and over and whisper into his ear - _I love you, I love you_ \- and Sam would come with Dean’s cock inside him, uttering sounds of ecstasy and adoration…

Dean spilled over his hand with a small gasp, but his orgasm was too sorrowful to enjoy. He missed Sam so badly that he thought he would die any moment from his longing, and from his loneliness. He cleaned up his seed, zipped up his fly and drove away, feeling emotionally unsatisfied in a deeply uncomfortable way and wishing he hadn’t jerked off at all. 

~

On Dean’s next birthday, his twenty-third, he hoped Sam would call, and he didn’t. Dean didn’t do anything at all to celebrate the day, even though John offered to take him out for dessert. Dean didn’t want dessert that night, or even John’s attention. He only wanted Sam.

~

Dean couldn’t move on from his love, and he had given up on trying. This was to be his life, his identity: a pervert who could only want his own brother, doomed to be alone forever. Sure, Dean still went out and fucked random people from bars, but it meant less than nothing. He felt less than nothing. He did it because, well, what else was he supposed to do?

And when he did it, fucked men and women whose names he forgot the next day, he imagined he was with Sam. Some guy’s cock in his mouth was Sam’s cock, some guys ass surrounding him was Sam’s ass. Though Dean was bisexual and generally attracted to women as much as men, he started heading mostly to gay bars because if he was with a man it was easier to pretend that he was with Sam. He hit on any guys that resembled Sam in any way, and over time started turning down anyone who didn’t resemble Sam enough. 

One night he was in a bathroom stall in some gay bar in some state with some guy. The man had Dean’s front side pressed to the wall, which Dean liked because when he had to look too closely at people’s faces it made it harder to pretend he was with Sam. The man swore harshly as he fucked Dean, and Dean was annoyed at how unlike Sam’s voice the man’s voice sounded. He wished he was topping so he could tell the man to shut up. Instead, Dean began moaning so loudly it drowned out the man’s curses. The moans were fake, but the man seemed to like them; he quieted himself, presumably to listen, just as Dean hoped he would. Dean was very good at moaning.

_Sammy, fuck me,_ Dean cried out in his mind, _that’s your cock inside me, Sammy, it’s Sammy’s cock, Sammy’s cock,_ he told himself, and Dean came against the graffiti covered wall.

~

On Sam’s nineteenth birthday Dean almost called. Countless times throughout the day he held the phone in his hand and stared at it. He dialed and hung up after one ring, over and again. He practiced in his mind what he might, in theory, say. He could finally thank Sam for his beloved ring. He could wish him a happy birthday and say - _remember, remember, remember…_

But in the end, Dean didn’t call because he couldn’t stop hearing Sam’s voice speaking his final words: “don’t call me.”

Instead, Dean drank alone in his motel room and recalled the birthday blow job he had given on Sam’s seventeenth birthday. It had been shameful and dark in the morning, but it was something special and wonderful before that, and Dean replayed the scene in his mind as best he could remember it. He played it over and over, but he didn’t jerk himself. When he got drunk enough he began to speak aloud to Sam, though he knew his brother was miles and miles away.

“Sammy,” Dean said to the empty room, “I love you. I wish we could be together.”

He paused, though he knew no answer would come.

“I’m so sorry,” he slurred, “I hate myself for rejecting you. I didn’t want to do it, Sammy, I didn’t.”

He paused again, this time to down another drink.

“It’s just the way things are, Sammy,” he lamented, “brothers together is just wrong.”

Dean was overcome with rage that his love, which felt so sweet and right, had to be wrong. Suddenly and with no forethought, he threw his drink against the wall. The motel room he and John had ended up in this time was a particularly nice one, and Dean had been drinking out of a real glass from the bathroom rather than the disposable plastic kind most motels had; upon making contact with the wall the glass shattered. Dean felt a brief satisfaction, but an instant later he was rageful once again. He was furious at the world for deeming his precious love wrong, and he felt like he was starting not to understand exactly _why_ it was wrong. 

But that wondering, that doubting of the principle that incest was wrong, fueled Dean’s rage as well - rage at himself for having such thoughts, such vile thoughts, rage that he was cursed to be such a pervert. Why did it have to be this way? It wasn’t fair, and before he knew it Dean had smashed the other motel room glass, plus a tacky lamp that shattered against the dresser when he threw it. He went to the bathroom and stared into the mirror and wished there was a third glass to throw at it. Instead he used his fist, and the reflective glass shattered and cut his flesh. He was too drunk to really feel the pain, and he was disappointed not to feel punished by the wounds.

~ 

As the months passed, Dean tried to focus on hunting. Hunting was something that made sense to him, something he was good at, and something that made him feel like he had worth; he was a disgusting and utterly fucked up pervert, but at least he saved people from evil things. Even if he was evil too, in his own way. 

But even hunting made Dean think of Sam. As he fought the monster of the moment, he imagined precisely how each fight would differ if Sam were there too. Of course, Dean did fine even when John was elsewhere and he had to hunt alone, but Dean missed the sense of harmony fighting by Sam’s side used to bring him. Every aspect of his life was lonely since Sam had left.

~

As Dean’s twenty-fourth birthday drew near, he fell into a depression deep enough that he struggled to get out of his crappy motel room beds in the mornings. He still did alright on hunts but not quite as well as he used to do, taking a little longer to win each battle, and John noticed. Dean promised to do better.

When the day came Sam didn’t call, but Dean hadn’t expected him to this time. John was off on one of his private hunts and hadn’t even mentioned Dean’s birthday before he left. Dean decided he didn’t feel like being alone. He went to the nearest gay bar and picked up the most Sam-like man he could find. He told the man it was his birthday and the man delightedly sucked his cock in the alley behind the bar. Dean liked getting head because it was easy to close his eyes and pretend it was Sam’s mouth on him. 

~

Sam’s twentieth birthday was no better. Dean longed to call him but didn’t seriously consider actually doing it. He drank alone for a few hours then went out and ended up at some guy’s apartment. He bent the man over the edge of the bed and fucked his ass roughly as the man humped the bed beneath him. Dean gripped the man’s brown hair and breathed heavily, but he made no moans and when he climaxed he had to struggle to detect the pleasure in the moment. 

Afterwards the man wanted Dean to stay over and when Dean said no the man’s face fell, reminding Dean sharply of Sam’s face every time Dean had said no to him. Guilt ridden, he decided to sleep over like the man wanted, but he snuck out early, leaving behind a note that read, _Thanks for a great night,_ but did not include Dean’s real name or phone number. With men Dean was always “Dax.” Sam was the only man ever to have known Dean by his true name when they fucked.

~ 

As though his waking thoughts of Sam weren’t enough, Dean also had frequent dreams about his brother. He hated to sleep, but sometimes his body didn’t allow him to resist it. One night he was too tired from a hunt to stay up, and so he had no choice but to dream of Sam.

_Sam was leaving, storming down the street, leaving Dean behind. Dean called out to him - “remember, remember,” and Sam stopped and turned to face him. “Dean,” Sam said as he opened his arms, and Dean ran into them, clung to Sam and pleaded with him to stay. “Will we be together?” Sam asked. “Yes, yes, forever, nothing else matters,” Dean cried, and they kissed, and undressed each other, and made gentle love on the nighttime street._

Dean woke up partway, encompassed by a momentary elation that turned immediately bitter and cruel. He rolled over and fell miserably back into full sleep, fell helplessly into a fresh dream of Sam.

_Sam was only four years old and Dean was taking care of him. Dean looked down for a minute and then up again to find that Sam was standing in the street and staring up at the sky. “Sammy,” Dean called, “get out of the street,” but Sam didn’t listen, and then came a blood red school bus with no driver and it ran him down. “Sammy,” Dean sobbed, and he ran to him, but it was too late._

This time Dean woke with a small cry of terror and looked frantically around for Sam, wanting to see him and know he was alive, forgetting for a moment that he had left. A wall of sadness slammed into Dean’s being when he remembered. He forced himself back to sleep before he could cry.

_It was Sam’s eighteenth birthday, but it was somehow Dean’s eighteenth birthday at the same time. “Happy birthday, brother,” Sam said, and he guided his cock into Dean’s hole. Dean felt Sam’s cock inside him like it was glowing warm, and when he looked down he saw the bright light radiating from Sam’s hardness as it pounded into him over and again. “Don’t leave me, Sammy,” Dean moaned, and he squeezed the muscles of his ass tightly around Sam’s cock, clinging to him with his insides. “Promise, promise you’ll stay,” Dean pleaded, but Sam didn’t answer and Dean found Sam’s face unreadable._

Dean woke again, feeling painfully tired yet desperately repelled by the act of sleep. His dreams of Sam made sleep exhausting, but Dean and John were off to a fresh hunt in the morning and Dean didn’t want to disappoint John again by moving too slowly. He made himself go back to sleep.

_Dean had Sam bent over the hood of the Impala, which was parked in the middle of a wide, empty street in the daylight of multiple suns; too many to count crowded the sky. Sam and Dean were both naked and Dean was fucking Sam hard and fast. “Am I hurting you, Sammy?” he whispered as he snapped his hips, plunging repeatedly into Sam’s hole. “No, it feels good, big brother,” Sam replied, “I like it, I like it, Dean, I want it,” but Dean didn’t believe him, so he stopped and fell heavily to his knees on the hard pavement, feeling his flesh bruise as he cried out through flowing tears - “I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m sorry.”_

After that one Dean only woke enough to roll over again. Part of his mind strained to awaken further, afraid to fall back into the same nightmare, but before Dean could stop himself he was once again asleep. It turned out to be a new nightmare that greeted him, but it was no better than the last.

_“Will I ever see you again?” Dean asked, and though Sam appeared to be eighteen Dean realized that he himself was a small child. “No,” Sam replied shortly, looking down at Dean with hard eyes, “I hate you.” Dean started to cry, and reached his arms up, wanting with all that he was for Sam to pick him up and hug him tight, but instead Sam turned and walked away._

Dean woke fully, feeling utterly sick of trying to stay asleep. He decided to give it one more try though, for the sake of tomorrow’s hunt, for the sake of pleasing John with a quick, clean kill. With a deeply uncomfortable feeling, a feeling like he was his own civil war, Dean forced himself back to sleep.

_It was the first time they had hooked up, and Sam’s cock was pressed to Dean’s, rubbing against it in Sam’s firm grip. “It isn’t wrong,” Sam assured him, “it doesn’t matter that we’re brothers,” but just then a giant hand came from the pitch-black sky and smashed them till their bodies were nearly flattened, and Dean knew he was being punished for his sin. “Spare my brother,” he pleaded as they lay dying, “it was all my fault, please,” he begged, but no one answered._

After that Dean stayed awake. He dressed and hurried to the comfort of the Impala, drove to the nearest twenty-four-hour diner and drank coffee until the sun rose. Then he drove back to the motel to meet John for the new hunt.

~

On Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday, they were between hunts and John offered to take Dean to dinner. Dean agreed with a small smile, wishing he could appreciate the offer more; not long ago he would have been delighted by John’s attention, but now all he could think about was Sam’s absence. At the restaurant all Dean could do was imagine that Sam was celebrating with them and mourn the fact that Sam’s presence was only a fantasy. John was talking to him and the plate of food in front of Dean looked and smelled good, yet it didn’t beckon to him. He tried to listen to what John was saying to him. He tried to enjoy his meal. He failed at both.

~

Sam’s twenty-first birthday hurt Dean more than all the others because he couldn’t stop picturing Sam out with all his college friends celebrating Sam reaching the legal drinking age. Getting drunk felt like it belonged to Sam and Dean, and he was ragefully jealous. Of course, the legality was meaningless as Sam and Dean had both begun drinking years before turning twenty-one; still, the age marker felt special, like a day to celebrate the activity of getting drunk, an activity that Sam and Dean should be celebrating together.

Dean went out drinking in Sam’s honor and ended up in a threesome with two men he met at a gay bar. They both looked a little like Sam, and Dean felt lucky to have found them. Partway through the threesome, though, the men admitted that they were brothers. Dean was aroused, but far greater than his arousal was his sharp, sorrowful jealousy that these brothers got to be together when he and Sam didn’t. He said good night and left, then spent the rest of the night drinking alone and trying to think of nothing.

~ 

Dean tried not to acknowledge his twenty-sixth birthday at all. He was both relieved and hurt that John didn’t mention it. He did the same on Sam’s twenty-second birthday, using every spec of his energy to think and act like it was just another day.

And then Sam called.

“Sammy?” Dean spoke hoarsely into the phone, part of him fearing it was only a dream.

“Dean,” Sam slurred, and Dean realized with a crushing feeling that Sam was only calling because he was drunk. Still, it was better than nothing, far, far better. He wanted to hear more of Sam’s voice, a sound he had craved for years, a sound he had feared was lost to him forever.

“Happy birthday, Sammy,” he said urgently.

“Dean,” Sam repeated, “I, I shouldn’t have called.”

“No,” Dean said with panic, “please don’t hang up. I didn’t get to thank you for my ring.”

“Oh,” Sam breathed dreamily, “you like it?”

“I love it, Sammy. I wear it every day.”

“Dean,” Sam said, “I don’t, I don’t know what to do.”

“About what, Sammy?”

“You. You, Dean, I can’t stop… loving you, loving you in the wrong way. I’m trying so hard,” Sam said, voice breaking.

“Me too,” Dean whispered. He wanted to tell Sam that if he came back they could be together, but as much as he yearned for Sam’s romantic love, Dean still couldn’t justify the incest. He hated himself for wanting Sam and he hated himself for denying Sam.

“If I come back,” Sam spoke in a small voice, “can we be together? Dean. Dean. Don’t you need me like I need you?”

Dean felt a tear slide down his cheek. He wanted to weep wildly but forced himself to keep it together.

“Sammy,” he spoke with a powerful sadness, a sadness he felt in his bones, in his blood, “we can’t… but, but please, please will you still come ba-”

Sam hung up. Dean fell to the floor and sobbed into his hands.


	6. Curbside Confessions No Longer Afraid

Dean started looking for an excuse to go see Sam. If Sam had called, even drunk, maybe there was a chance of convincing him to come back. If only Dean could talk to him in person Sam wouldn’t be able to hang up on him, and they could stare into each other’s eyes and even if Sam turned him away if would be worth it just to get a glimpse of him.

But Dean had to find a way to justify showing up, and when John took longer than usual to come back from one of his hunts alone, Dean latched onto the opportunity. Being back with Sam, hunting with him, was both unimaginably blissful and excruciatingly painful. Every time Dean looked at his brother he wanted to give in and say they could have a romance, the romance that had been slowly building their whole lives. But no, no, Dean couldn’t let that happen. He still believed in his core that it was wrong, and that he was deeply and permanently fucked up for wanting it so terribly.

Then came the hunt for Bloody Mary, and for the first time since the brothers’ tense reunion Sam’s life was put in serious danger. Bloody Mary tried to kill him, and when Dean saw the blood sliding like tears down Sam’s cheeks he thought he might actually lose his beloved brother, might truly lose him, might lose him in a way that was final and dark. 

When the hunt was all done, Dean drove them away in the Impala, and as he drove he contemplated with terror the idea of Sam dying. He imagined how the grief would crush him, how much it would hurt to go on, how he would never again be whole. He thought about how Sam would be gone forever, gone from the world, how he would never again look into Sam’s eyes or feel his touch or hear his voice. He thought about the fact that it would be utterly and eternally too late to change his mind and offer Sam his heart, and so Dean would be doomed to live a lifetime knowing that he could have had what he wanted most of all, could have had something immeasurably precious, but missed his chance and would never get another. Dean contemplated all this for hours of driving and then, with a sudden and all-encompassing relief, something clicked in Dean’s mind: 

They loved each other. They _loved_ each other. They were in love and it was beautiful and pure and not being together was a waste of the brief span of time they had before death took them. Hunting was dangerous, and even if it wasn’t, life was short, too short to reject happiness when it was right in front of him. He pulled over the car.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

_“Nothing,”_ Dean breathed with a shy joy, “I thought it was wrong but, but how can it be, when it feels like this, when it feels so right, so _right_ Sammy, so much like it’s meant to be, like it’s just how things are supposed to be. Have to be. Like stopping it is like trying to stop gravity. Gravity can’t be wrong cause it just _is_.”

“What are you saying?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, “I’m so sorry for being such a jerk.” He took Sam’s hand in his and Sam let him. “You were right all along, Sammy. I can see it now.” Sam’s face was unreadable, and Dean hoped with desperation that it wasn’t already too late, that Sam still wanted to be with him.

“You mean,” Sam spoke with awe, “that you want to be together?”

Dean nodded, too overcome to speak further, too blissful at having realized and declared the truth and too anxious over how Sam would respond to his change of heart.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, and he leaned near and united their lips.

It was a sober kiss, and it was a kiss with a future. It was no one’s birthday; there was no excuse. Their kiss was solid and real and it was love, and it stretched on for many long moments. They ran their fingers through each other’s hair, then gripped each other’s faces as their kiss deepened and small sounds of pleasure began to escape from their locked together mouths.

“Sammy,” Dean spoke softly when he broke the kiss at last, “I missed you so god damn much.”

“Me too, Dean,” Sam murmured, “I missed you every moment we were apart,” and Dean made a happy, relieved sigh. 

“Sammy,” Dean asked with cautious excitement as he placed his hand on Sam’s thigh, “do you still want, I mean, I was wondering if you would still want me to…” he trailed off.

“To make love to me?” Sam finished for him, “To top me?”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean murmured, “I mean, if you’re sure you want me to because, well, cause I want to show you that I know now, know that it’s not wrong, me and you. That I get it now that I wouldn’t be taking advantage of you, if you, you know, still want it. But if you want to fuck me instead like we did last time, I’d love that too, and, well, I guess we have lots of time to take turns now that,” he took a deep breath, feeling heady from his bliss, “now that we’re together,” he finished with a smile he could feel was sweet.

Sam’s face lit up and he pressed his lips to Dean’s for a dreamy moment.

“I’d love for you to take a turn topping, Dean,” Sam spoke, his voice a soft moan. He kissed Dean’s cheek in a tender moment, then whispered into his ear, “I want to feel your cock inside me.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned, and they kissed once again, harder this time, their tongues meeting, then smiled at each other with great vulnerability. 

“Do you, um, wanna do it right now?” Dean asked.

“On the side of the road where anyone could see?” Sam asked with excitement, “Dean, the road is empty now, but someone could drive by at any time. Are you sure you want to do it right now? I, well I’d love it, but if you want to wait till the next motel, that’s good too.”

“No, I want to do it now, outside,” Dean replied, desperate to prove his change of heart, to show Sam without a doubt that things were different now, “cause it’s exciting and cause, well, I want you to know, know I’m not hiding from the truth anymore, the truth of you and me being right, not wrong. I want you to know I get it now that our love isn’t shameful. I know we’ll have to keep us secret from Dad and whoever else we know, but strangers driving by? Fuck it,” he grinned, then let his expression grow serious and raw as he added, “because if we’re outside it’s like, I don’t know, kind of meaningful or symbolic or whatever, you know?”

Sam appeared deeply touched for a long, silent moment.

“Oh, Dean,” he finally spoke, his voice tender, “yes, let’s do it now, outside.”

Dean put on his cassette of _Led Zeppelin II_ and rolled down all the windows. He then retrieved two folded plaid blankets from the back seat and a condom and tube of lubricant from the glove compartment. They got out of the car and Dean spread one blanket out on the grass to the side of the curb. He sat down on the blanket and gestured for Sam to join him. On the blanket the brothers undressed each other at speed; Dean was too desperate for Sam’s nakedness to slow down, and he knew he would have other chances to strip him slowly. _There would be other chances,_ he pondered with fierce elation, relishing the truth of their future. 

When they were both naked, Dean spread the second blanket out over their bare forms. Darkness had fallen and the weather was chilly, but beneath the thick blanket and beside Sam’s nude body Dean felt pleasantly warm. He climbed on top of Sam’s body and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s back. Dean gazed into Sam’s eyes in a way he never had before: somehow without guilt, somehow without shame. Dean didn’t know how he was managing it, but he was; he decided that the power of their love must simply be that strong, strong enough to smother his dark emotions, stronger than Dean ever knew love could be.

“I love you, Sammy, my Sammy,” he told him with great feeling.

“Oh, god, Dean, I love you so much.”

“Sammy,” Dean breathed as he moved his mouth to Sam’s neck and planted kiss after kiss against the skin, inhaling his scent, unable to get enough of it, sure that he would never ever get enough of it, would always crave it, need it, need to breathe it in like he needed to breathe air, “Sammy, are you mine?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam replied with intensity, “I’m yours.” He stroked his hands up and down Dean’s back.

“I’m yours too, Sammy,” Dean replied, “promise,” he added, then lowered his head below the blanket until his mouth was at Sam’s crotch. Sam’s cock was still soft, but after few moments of gentle sucking it hardened inside Dean’s mouth. Dean made a pleased hum, elated to have Sam’s cock in his mouth once again, and Sam uttered a soft, sweet sound. Dean wrapped his hand around the shaft, then lapped at the head, treasuring the knowledge that Sam’s cock was his now, his to pleasure and adore forever. Sam whispered Dean’s name urgently until Dean spread his lips and lowered his mouth onto Sam’s erection, relaxing the muscles at the back of his throat so that he could take Sam in as deeply as possible. 

“Oh, fuck, Dean,” Sam said as his hips jerked, and Dean began to bob his head. He brought his hand to Sam’s balls and stroked them gently with his palm as he sucked Sam’s cock. He took Sam down his throat each time and he moved his head faster and faster; he was too excited by the act of giving Sam pleasure to want to take his time and he knew there would be plenty more blow jobs in their future together. Despite his increasingly rapid movement, Dean did manage to savor the firm feeling of Sam’s shaft rubbing against his cheeks and tongue, to cherish the sensation of the head of Sam’s cock shoving down his throat over and over. He enjoyed the feeling of Sam’s balls in his hand as well, but in time Dean slid his hand lower and nuzzled his fingers between the cheeks of Sam’s ass.

“Yes, Dean,” Sam encouraged him. Dean’s fingers found Sam’s hole and he began to rub soft circles over the outside. Sam groaned low and long and Dean continued the motion of his hand as he continued the motion of his head and soon Sam moaned wildly and shot his seed down Dean’s throat. Dean made a contented, muffled hum and swallowed eagerly, then drew back his head without stopping the movement of his hand.

“You taste so good,” Dean murmured from beneath the blanket, thinking of the first time Sam had come in his mouth, remembering how he had thought then that he would never taste Sam’s seed again and full of joy that he had been wrong, “did it feel good, Sammy?” 

“It felt amazing, oh god,” Sam panted.

“Mmm,” Dean replied, then gently bent Sam’s legs back and dropped his head lower. He used his hands to part Sam’s ass cheeks and brought his mouth to Sam’s hole. He breathed a heavy breath against it, then glided his tongue lightly over the puckered flesh.

“Fuck yes,” Sam groaned.

Dean ran the tip of his tongue along the rim, moving slowly, trying to detect each tiny ridge of flesh. From time to time he would pause the circular motion and lap repeatedly over the area with the bed of his tongue. When Sam made a long lyrical moan, Dean brought a hand up to see if Sam’s cock had hardened again; to Dean’s delight, he found that it was fully erect once more. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and jerked it with a loose grip as his tongue lavished attention on Sam’s asshole.

Dean stimulated the outside of Sam’s hole until Sam bucked his hips and hissed, _“inside, inside.”_. At that Dean used the tip of his tongue to penetrate Sam’s hole; Sam’s cock jumped in his hand and Sam uttered a grunt of need. Dean pushed his tongue in as far as it would go and flexed it inside him, moving it to and fro and up and down within the tight space. 

“Dean, Dean,” Sam moaned.

Dean withdrew his tongue, then plunged it fully inside once again. He repeated the motions over and over, fucking Sam with his tongue. Sam writhed and made urgent sounds.

“When will you fuck me?” Sam asked breathily, “Dean, oh Dean,” he added.

Dean released Sam’s cock and removed his tongue from Sam’s ass. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s hole and then climbed up Sam’s body, and soon Dean’s head emerged from beneath the blanket. He picked up the lube and smiled at Sam as he slicked his fingers. Sam gazed dreamily at Dean, and Dean thought he could have stared at Sam’s expression forever. Dean settled himself beside Sam and gently guided Sam to roll onto his side with his back to Dean. Dean pressed a series of impassioned kisses to the back of Sam’s shoulder, then brought his slicked fingers to Sam’s hole.

“Oh fuck, Dean, put your fingers inside me,” Sam cried needily. Dean chuckled softly, utterly charmed by Sam’s eagerness to be penetrated. Despite the urgent invitation, Dean ran his forefinger along the rim over and over until Sam swore and thrust his hips desperately.

“Ready, Sammy?”

“Fuck yes, Dean.”

Dean slipped one finger gently inside and Sam pushed back against him, shoving Dean’s finger in as deeply as it could go.

“More, Dean,” he demanded.

Dean slid out his forefinger and reentered with two fingers and Sam made a profoundly relieved sound. Dean reached his free hand over Sam’s hip and gripped Sam’s hardness lightly once again, but didn’t jerk him. He rested his forehead against the back of Sam’s shoulder and sighed blissfully. After a still, silent moment of joy, Dean used his two slippery fingers to carefully prepare Sam’s hole for his already eager cock. He glided his fingers in and out, spreading them gradually wider as he went. He moved them to and fro in a scissoring motion, slowly stretching Sam’s tight entrance. He curled them at just the right angle and rubbed tender circles against Sam’s sensitive prostate to make Sam yearn to be filled.

“Dean,” Sam spoke in a harsh whisper, “fuck me, I want your cock, fuck me,” then added in a loud, wanton voice, “do it now, I’ve waited so long.”

Dean heard himself moan needily. He hurriedly tore open the condom wrapper, rolled the condom onto his hard cock and slicked himself thoroughly with lube. He lay again on his side beneath the blanket and huddled close behind Sam’s body, then slipped his cock between the cheeks of Sam’s ass. He pressed the shaft to Sam’s hole and rocked his hips, rubbing his erection along Sam’s crack.

“Are you ready, Sammy?” he whispered into his ear.

“Fuck me, Dean,” Sam demanded gruffly, sounding as though he would go mad without Dean’s cock.

Dean reached between their bodies and guided the head of his cock to press lightly against Sam’s entrance.

“Do it,” Sam grunted.

With a lyrical moan Dean slid slowly into his brother’s channel; Sam arched his back and moaned Dean’s name. Inside him, Dean felt encompassed by love. He wrapped his arm around Sam’s torso and held him fiercely to his body.

“Sammy, oh, my Sammy,” he groaned, “you feel, oh fuck…”

“Dean, your cock, oh god, fuck me,” Sam whispered, his voice overflowing with urgency. He hugged Dean’s arm to his chest and pushed his ass back against Dean’s body, taking Dean’s cock deep inside him.

“Sammy,” Dean cried, and he began to move his hips, drawing his cock gradually outward and then gliding it forward once again. Sam released Dean’s arm and Dean returned his hand to Sam’s cock and stroked him as he slid in and out of Sam’s ass. Dean used smooth, slow motions of his pelvis to make love to his brother, but soon Sam started to thrust his ass hard and fast against Dean’s cock. Dean swore and began to snap his hips, slamming in and out of Sam’s hole, plunging into him over and over, briskly filling him again and again. Sam moaned, a stretched-out sound of need and satiation.

“It feels good?” Dean asked, needing to make sure.

“Fuck yes, Dean,” Sam replied richly, “it feels so good, fuck me, fuck me.”

Dean jerked Sam’s cock faster as he continued to pound his hole, moving his hand in sync with his hips and relishing the sounds of pleasure Sam made. As Sam rocked his own hips at speed, he shoved his cock in and out of the channel created by Dean’s curled fingers. Dean stopped moving his hand and held it in position to let Sam fuck it, and Sam pushed his cock in and out of the tubular space. Dean made wild, hungry love to him as he did so, and Sam began to chant Dean’s name, speaking it at each moment of full penetration. Dean brought his mouth to the back of Sam’s neck and breathed harshly against the skin as their bodies writhed together beneath the blanket, beneath the night sky.

Before they had started their sex, a part of Dean had been worried he would feel guilty after all, that once he was fucking his little brother the shame and self-hatred of the past would return to him and ruin everything. He was unspeakably grateful to find that it wasn’t that way at all; Sam’s enjoyment was so evident, so undeniable, that Dean couldn’t help but feel the joy of pleasing him, and that joy swallowed everything else. _Gravity,_ Dean kept thinking, _we are like gravity._

“Dean,” Sam groaned, “are you, is this…”

“What, Sammy?” Dean panted.

“Forever?” Sam finished in a small voice.

“Forever, Sammy,” Dean replied with fervor, “you and me in love, you and me together, forever, forever..."

“Oh my god,” Sam whispered in awe as he continued to work his hips.

“I love you, my Sammy,” Dean whispered into his ear as he kept on fucking him, joining their bodies, making them one.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam breathed, “fuck me hard, fuck me like you need me.”

“I do need you,” Dean hurried to reply as he snapped his hips, fucking Sam as firmly and rapidly as he could, “I need you so bad, Sammy.” He began to move his hand again, jerking Sam’s cock at speed as he mouthed over Sam’s shoulder, covering the skin with gentle nibbles and little licks, with sweet kisses and grazes of his lips. Sam’s skin felt silky against Dean’s mouth, and his scent was everywhere, and Dean couldn’t remember being happier in his whole life; he had relished every moment of their first time, but there had been such sorrow in its finality. Now they fucked with a future, now they both knew this was far from the last time. 

Tonight’s lovemaking was sober too, hazy only from emotion, and Dean knew the lack of alcohol would allow him to recall the encounter in greater detail than he could recall their drunken sex. He worked to memorize every sensation; though he knew there were countless times on the shared road ahead of them, Dean was sure this time would always be special.

“I need you too,” Sam cried out, “oh, fuck, you feel, oh god, so good inside me, perfect, perfect, like, like…”

“Home?” Dean guessed, because that was how Sam felt to him. 

“Yes,” Sam replied, his voice breaking, “home.”

Dean kissed the side of his neck over and over, then whispered into his ear again and again: _“I love you, I love you, I love you…”_ as his orgasm prowled nearer and nearer.

“Dean, Dean,” Sam cried, “come inside me, I’m yours, oh god, make me know I’m yours.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned low, and he came, wildly and blissfully, madly and ecstatically, shooting his seed within the tight confines of Sam’s channel and feeling Sam spill over his hand in the same moment calling out, _“Dean,”_ and shuddering violently. Their shared orgasm bound them even further than life had already bound them, united them more profoundly than their shared blood alone ever could; they were brothers, and now they were beloveds as well, and they could not possibly be tied together any more tightly or any more permanently while still being reasonably considered two separate people.


End file.
